


Inception

by MiaCooper



Series: Heaven in the Shape of Hell [1]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: Discovery, Star Trek: Mirror Universe, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Double Penetration, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Flogging, Janeway x Anyone who can get her off, Knifeplay, Leather gloves, Medical Malpractice, Mirror Universe, Multiple Partners, Public Sex, Restraints, Sarcasm, Voyager Mirror March, Xenophobia, erotic asphyxiation, leather boots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-07 04:20:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17953490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiaCooper/pseuds/MiaCooper
Summary: When Kashyk gives his lover what he thinks is a harmless trinket, he has no way to predict the wild ride it’s going to take them on. Fortunately for him, his lover is the indomitable Kathryn Janeway, who’s no stranger to being thrown across time and space … but the Mirror Universe presents her with challenges even she will struggle to meet.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> We’re not in Kansas anymore. Or, obviously, the canon _Voyager_ universe. Let’s just say this is one of many possible timelines that could have occurred as a result of one tiny change to _Counterpoint_.
> 
> This story is written for the [@voyagermirrormarch](https://www.voyagermirrormarch.tumblr.com) fic event, and is part of a series. Part 2 will be posted on 13 March and Part 3 on 31 March.

* * *

“It’s called a _limina_ ,” he explains, enjoying the way her eyes reflect the lavender glow of the device as she turns it over in curious fingers.  
  
“As in a threshold?” she asks, and he inclines his head.  
  
She sprawls, languid and barely-clad, across the rumpled sheets of his bed. The flush is just fading from her skin – the flush he put there – and her lips are still curved in that secret smile she wears when he has satisfied her thoroughly.  
  
“The last time I crossed a threshold, I grew gills and procreated,” she mutters darkly. “What does it do?”  
  
“Nothing, probably,” he shrugs. “I picked it up in a slave market on Stelio. A trinket; a curio. I thought it might amuse you.”  
  
Kathryn is studying it with a frown. “I’m not so sure it’s just a trinket, Kashyk.” She holds it out for his inspection. “See this control panel? I’ve seen something like it once before.”  
  
“Really?” He takes it from her, interested despite himself, and taps a random pattern on the device’s panel. “Where?”  
  
“In a classified Starfleet security file,” she answers, promptly snatching it back. “And be careful.”  
  
“Why?” Curiosity aroused now – he’s always some form of aroused around her – Kashyk makes a grab for it.  
  
Kathryn jerks her hand out of his reach and dances away. “Because it’s dangerous.”  
  
“You should know by now,” he leaps after her, long fingers grasping her wrist, “that danger excites me.”  
  
He tightens his grip until she gasps in pain and drops the device, right into his other hand.  
  
“Kashyk, don’t –”  
  
But it’s too late: as he catches the little chevron-shaped curio, his fingers trigger the control sequence he has inadvertently entered. There’s a sizzle, a blue flash, and –

* * *

  
  
They’re standing in a field of colour and light, the foliage so bright that Kashyk squints and shields his eyes. He finds himself reaching for Kathryn’s arm, seeking contact. Not that he’d ever admit he needs it.  
  
“Where are we?”  
  
As his vision adjusts to the increased illumination, he reads trepidation in her eyes. “I have no idea,” she answers. “Do you have a tricorder?”  
  
Kashyk feels for the place on his hip where he normally keeps his scanning device; it’s empty.  
  
“Damn,” she mutters. Glancing around, she continues, “This looks like a hydroponics bay of some kind. See if you can spot an exit –”  
  
Her voice cuts off in a gasp, and Kashyk, who’s been peering in the opposite direction, whips around. “What’s the m-”  
  
His words, too, die.  
  
Approaching them are three dark figures. They’re far enough away, and the light is so brilliant, that Kashyk can’t quite make them out. But he can see that they appear combative; two are clearly armed. It isn’t until they’re much closer – five metres or so away – that he hears Kathryn suck in a breath. She slips the _limina_ discreetly into the pocket of her silk robe.  
  
“They’re _human_ ,” she whispers.  
  
The humans – she’s right, Kashyk realises – stop two metres from them, two men fanned out slightly behind a woman, weapons trained.  
  
The woman in front is apparently unarmed, but that fact doesn’t seem to bother her. She’s decked out in black, the fabric cut close to her slender figure. There’s a gold breastplate buckled to her torso, criss-crossed with a geometric design. He glances at Kathryn and sees that she’s studying the armour.  
  
“State your identity,” orders the woman in black and gold.  
  
Kashyk opens his mouth and feels Kathryn’s hand slip into his, squeezing in warning.  
  
“My name is Kathryn,” she says quickly before he can speak. “My friend and I came here by accident.” Smiling, she adds, “Where is _here_ , exactly?”  
  
One of the guards twitches. It’s a slight movement, but Kashyk’s eyes track to it. Quick as a striking snake, the woman snags a knife from her sleeve and twists at the waist, flinging it unerringly at the guard’s throat. He chokes, eyes popping; he staggers backward and sags at the knees, dying with a pained, polite gurgle.  
  
It’s been years since Kashyk felt real fear. But, as the woman turns her pale-green eyes on him, his gut clenches unpleasantly.  
  
He is a highly disciplined, experienced officer of the Devore military; he’s trained to withstand mental and physical torture to an exquisite degree. And yet he finds himself wondering if this woman – this _human_ woman – might have inconceivable means of breaking him.  
  
The woman’s green gaze slides across to Kathryn, who stands straight and, by all appearances, calm. Kashyk knows better; her fingers tremble ever so slightly in his clammy grip, and he felt her involuntary lurch toward the guard when he fell. She’s still so Starfleet, though she hasn't set foot on a Federation ship in over two years. The knowledge both annoys and delights him.  
  
“To answer your question,” the woman addresses Kathryn, “you have the privilege to be guests aboard the ISS _Charon_ , flagship of the Terran Empire. I am Inquisitor Katrina Cornwell, and you will come with me.” She pauses. “You may bring your pet.”  
  
“ _Pet_?” Kashyk can’t help blurting indignantly.  
  
Cool eyes still fixed on Kathryn’s, the Inquisitor jerks her head and the still-living guard steps forward to wrap his meaty hand around Kashyk’s bicep. Kashyk’s first instinct is to curl his bare toes into the loamy ground, but the slight shake of Kathryn’s head quells him.  
  
He allows the guard to escort him instead, meekly, like an _ignot_ to the slaughter.  
  
He hopes it isn’t an omen.

* * *

  
  
They step from what Kathryn had deemed a hydroponics bay into a dimly-lit, duranium-lined corridor. The transition is jarring, the deck chilly beneath Kashyk’s feet. Kathryn – always so sensitive to the cold – shifts closer to the warmth of his body as they move.  
  
“Faster,” grunts the taciturn guard, nudging Kashyk in the back with his weapon.  
  
After winding through increasingly opulent corridors they approach a set of double doors, ornately decorated in gold and bronze, which are flung wide, allowing the Inquisitor to pass through without breaking stride. Kashyk, Kathryn and their escort trail her somewhat less impressively.  
  
The Inquisitor advances along an aisle formed by two ranks of soldiers, all dressed in black and gold as she is, though somewhat less elaborately, and halts several metres before a short flight of stairs atop which are arranged several more decorated guards and a dais surrounded by a half-circle of lights. To Kashyk’s surprise, the Inquisitor drops to one knee, head bowed, fist clenched to her chest. Behind them, he senses the guard doing the same.  
  
“Emperor,” the Inquisitor says softly, “I’ve brought the intruders.”  
  
It’s only then that Kashyk realises there is somebody inside the ring of lights on the dais. Somebody standing so still in the shadows that he hadn’t noticed her.  
  
He notices her now, as she descends from her platform, sinuous as a snake, dressed entirely in black leather.  
  
Where Inquisitor Cornwell was intimidating, this woman is downright terrifying. Kashyk has never wished more fervently for his Inspector’s uniform than in this moment.  
  
Not least because its tight leather trousers and multiple buckles would be adept at hiding the erection he’s sure is quite visible in these flimsy lounge pants he’s wearing.  
  
He covers his unease with lazy arrogance – it’s served him well in the past – drawling, “And you are?”  
  
Her black eyes are ice, her voice the lash of a whip. “Kneel, slave!”  
  
Kashyk gapes. “ _What_ did you call me?”  
  
“Kashyk,” hisses Kathryn beside him, “I recommend you shut up and _kneel_ ,” and she drops to her own knees, tugging him down hard beside her.  
  
It’s too late, though. There’s a whistle in the air, and suddenly Kashyk’s back is on fire, icy-hot agony lancing his spine from tailbone to crown. To his credit, he tightens his lips on the scream that wants to erupt.  
  
“Please don’t,” Kathryn exclaims. “I apologise for my … companion’s … disrespect. He isn’t familiar with your – our protocols.”  
  
The woman in leather turns her attention back to Kathryn. “Aren’t you familiar with them either, my dear?” she asks, voice milder. “You brought an alien onto my vessel without permission, you failed to bow to your Emperor … and what were you doing in our spore cultivation hangar?”  
  
The pain subsiding, Kashyk glances to Kathryn in time to watch her eyes widen. “I … I apologise, Your Imperial Majesty. We came here by accident. It’s … difficult to explain.”  
  
The Emperor bends close, her voice deceptively sweet. “Try,” she suggests.  
  
Having almost been bested by it two years earlier – and tested by it every day since – Kashyk is familiar with the quicksilver workings of Kathryn’s mind. He watches from the corner of his eye as she answers the Emperor.  
  
“I’m an explorer,” Kathryn begins, “from a planet so far away that it may as well not even be part of the Terran Empire. For five years, my crew and I were exploring far beyond the edges of known space.”  
  
The Emperor’s chin tilts. “Intriguing,” she comments. “Carry on.”  
  
Kathryn pauses momentarily, and Kashyk can almost feel her weighing truth and fiction, discarding as little of one as she can to spin a credible fable of the other.  
  
“My ship trespassed into this alien’s territory. Kashyk could have ordered us destroyed – his vessel was far larger and more heavily armed – but instead he allowed us to pass. Unfortunately we were caught in an ion storm and our warp core overloaded. My escape pod was the only one that survived the blast. Kashyk took me aboard, and I’ve been living with him for the past two years.”  
  
The Emperor recoils, and a murmur passes throughout the room.  
  
“Horrifying,” mutters the Inquisitor from beside the dais.  
  
“So long among aliens,” the Emperor agrees, pity dripping from her tone. “My poor dear. How fortunate you’ve managed to escape.” She strokes a leather-gloved finger along the line of Kathryn’s jaw. “Tell me, how did you escape?”  
  
“With Kashyk’s help.” There’s not the faintest quiver in her voice. She’s confident, Kashyk intuits; she believes she has the measure of these people.  
  
She’d better have, or he suspects they’re dead.  
  
“For two years I have been his concubine,” Kathryn states to widespread, if understated revulsion, and from the creamy undertone to her voice, Kashyk suspects she has her reasons for playing this card. “I’ve had no choice – I wanted to survive. But he has developed feelings for me, and I’ve used that to my advantage.”  
  
She turns to smile faintly at Kashyk, and he wonders, suddenly, just how much of this is an act.  
  
“I convinced him that we should run away together,” she continues. “I had intended to kill him as soon as we reached Terran space, but we were pulled into a wormhole instead. Fortunately for me,” her smile turns venomous, “that wormhole brought us right to your doorstep, Your Imperial Majesty.”  
  
Suddenly, Kashyk isn’t sure whether the Emperor is, in fact, the scariest woman in this room after all.

* * *

  
  
The Emperor motions for Kathryn to stand. Kashyk, whose knees are beginning to ache, glances up at the leather-clad monarch hopefully, but she ignores him, and the memory of that whiplash still smarts strongly enough that he doesn’t dare test her good will.  
  
“You’ve suffered terribly, my dear,” the Emperor is saying soothingly, “but I can see you’ve borne it like a true Terran. Now your revenge is at hand, I have an agoniser booth that will be perfect for this scum. Captain Lorca! Take him to –”  
  
“Wait,” Kathryn cuts in. “Please.”  
  
The Emperor hisses. “My dear, you’ve been away for a while, but there is no excuse for interrupting your Emperor.”  
  
Kathryn bows. “I apologise once again, Your Imperial Majesty. But if I might beg your indulgence for a moment longer?”  
  
The dark head inclines a fraction.  
  
“Thank you. You see, I’ve suffered this creature’s … attentions … for an unbearably long time, and I would enjoy the opportunity to exact my revenge on him at length. He’d make a tolerable slave – he’s quite strong, if not particularly clever – but he wouldn’t last long if he was damaged.”  
  
She pauses, gauging the Emperor’s reaction; Kashyk, biting back ire at the insult to both his intelligence and his sexual prowess, has to admit that it seems favourable.  
  
“Besides,” Kathryn goes on, “this alien was a ranking member of his species’ military. He is highly trained and able to withstand an almost Vulcan level of physical pain. Is there no other means you might use to torture him for his insolence?”  
  
The Emperor looks thoughtful. “Intriguing,” she admits, then smiles. “And amusing. Yes, there is, my dear, and in fact it might kill two lizards with one rock.”  
  
“I’m not sure I –”  
  
“Silence,” snaps the Emperor, gripping Kathryn’s chin between leather-clad fingers. “You need a lesson in etiquette, and I need to be assured of your fealty. Lorca,” she raises her voice again.  
  
A tall man appears silently at Kathryn’s side, and Kashyk feels her tense.  
  
“This is Captain Gabriel Lorca, my right-hand man,” the Emperor addresses Kathryn silkily. “I have always trusted him with the Empire’s most sensitive missions, and I do believe this qualifies.”  
  
She turns to Lorca.  
  
“Are you ready to serve your Emperor, Gabriel?”  
  
“In all things, always, Your Imperial Majesty,” he drawls.  
  
“Have your men restrain the alien.”  
  
At Lorca’s nod, two guards grasp Kashyk by the upper arms and drag him to his feet, immobilising him. He tests their grip and, finding it solid, can’t quite refrain from glaring at the Emperor. But she is too busy smiling hotly at Kathryn to notice.  
  
“Now, my dear,” the Emperor orders her, “take off your clothes.”


	2. Chapter 2

Long moments pass, during which Kathryn tells herself she hasn’t heard the woman correctly.  
  
It’s Kashyk who reacts first, perhaps out of some woefully misplaced sense of chivalry. “You have no right to ask her that,” he sputters.  
  
Kathryn shoots him an incredulous stare, but the impact of it is lessened by the force of one of the guards knocking Kashyk’s ankles out from under him. The Devore lands hard on his knees again, shoulders wrenched backward, a pained hiss escaping his clenched teeth.  
  
A moment later, the Emperor has drawn a gleaming sword from a sheath Kathryn hadn’t noticed strapped to her back, the tip resting at Kashyk’s Adam’s apple. A droplet of wine-coloured blood wells on his pale throat. In unison, Kathryn and the Inquisitor lick their lips.  
  
“You mistake me,” growls the Emperor, “if you believe that that was a request. And if you make another sound, I will cut out your tongue.”  
  
Kashyk shuts his mouth.  
  
The Emperor withdraws her sword and hands it carelessly to the Inquisitor, returning her gaze to Kathryn. “Do I need to repeat myself?”  
  
Two years as a Devore concubine have given Kathryn weapons with which a career in Starfleet never armed her. They have stripped things from her too, not least her sense of righteous indignation.  
  
“No, Your Imperial Majesty,” she answers, straight-backed and serene, as she unties her silky robe and lets it slither to the floor at her feet.  
  
The room is silent, all eyes on her. Kathryn doesn’t flinch.  
  
“Pretty,” purrs the Emperor. One leather-clad finger traces the line of Kathryn’s collarbone from shoulder to sternum, dips inward along the slope of her breast, and rests lightly on her nipple. “Yes, very pretty. Don’t you think so, Gabriel?”  
  
Kathryn can’t help stiffening slightly at the reminder of his presence. That classified Starfleet file had quite a bit to say about Gabriel Lorca of the Terran Empire.  
  
“I do,” agrees the man standing next to her.  
  
“Then why don’t you do something about it?” the Emperor demands, stepping back.  
  
“With pleasure,” says Gabriel Lorca, and cups his hands under Kathryn’s breasts, pinching her nipples with forefinger and thumb.  
  
From hip height, beside her, Kathryn hears a low growl.  
  
“Silence your dog,” advises Lorca, blue eyes amused, as one hand slides down her side to test and squeeze the globes of her ass, pulling her close against him.  
  
The cold metal decorating his uniform stiffens her nipples and prickles her skin, but Kathryn tries not to visibly react. “Kashyk,” she says softly, without taking her eyes from Lorca. “Quiet.”  
  
Gabriel dips his face into the crook of her neck and sniffs, and she catches her breath.  
  
“You smell like him,” he remarks. “Have you missed being with humans?”  
  
“Yes,” she says, quietly.  
  
His fingers drift between her thighs, pressing upward, and he brings them, glistening, to his lips and chuckles. “So it seems.”  
  
Laughter echoes around the room, and Kathryn presses her lips together.  
  
If this is going to happen, they are _not_ going to laugh at her.  
  
She places her palms flat against Gabriel Lorca’s chest to create some space, and raises her chin to meet his gaze. Cool and clear, she says, “I don’t remember humans needing so much time to ready themselves. I know a few techniques I learned from my alien companion, if you’d like me to help you?”  
  
The amusement fades from Lorca’s eyes as the troops around the room laugh again.  
  
Kathryn offers him a slight smile, and his gaze sharpens with something approaching respect. ‘What did you say your name was?”  
  
“Kathryn.”  
  
“Well, Kathryn,” he says, “I’m going to fuck you now. It’s going to happen whether you’re all right with it or not, but I’m kind of hoping that you are.”  
  
Kathryn lowers her eyelashes. Deliberately, sensually, she turns in his hold until she’s facing the ranks. She beckons forward a soldier in the front row, and after a brief glance at Lorca he steps up close. She motions him to kneel, and then she bends at the waist, bracing her hands on his shoulders, and turns her head to glance back at Gabriel.  
  
“What are you waiting for?”  
  


* * *

  
  
To her relief, he doesn’t lunge into her like a battering ram. He doesn’t bother to disrobe, no, or even remove his armour; she hears him unzip his pants and braces for impact, but the next thing she feels is the tips of his fingers tracing the length of her spine. It’s a surprisingly light touch – delicate and sure – and it’s powerfully erotic.  
  
Kathryn can’t help the shudder that takes hold of her, nor the sigh that passes her parted lips.  
  
“You like that?” Gabriel murmurs, bending to nip at her ear. The movement presses his cock – which is, yes, impressively hard, despite her earlier taunting – into the cleft between her legs, and pushes Kathryn forward onto the soldier before her. He sways under her shifting weight, and Gabriel growls, “Hold her steady, Bryce, or I’ll cut off your fucking balls.”  
  
“Sir,” mutters Bryce, his hands coming up to cradle Kathryn’s ribcage.  
  
Beside them, Kashyk shifts, a soft, pained sound uttered low in his throat.  
  
Kathryn flicks him a warning glance. She’d been concerned, when she first agreed to Kashyk’s offer, that he might tire of her someday and discard her for the enjoyment of his troops. But he isn’t the type to share. Or, at least, he doesn’t like to share her. She knows part of this is because of his natural tendency to jealousy, but she suspects a great deal of it is due to the feelings he prefers to deny he has toward her.  
  
Possessiveness is certainly foremost in his expression as she looks at him now, but it’s tainted with an uneasy mix of revulsion and desire. He’s getting off on this.  
  
Deep down, she can’t deny that she’s getting off on it, too.  
  
Lorca straightens, curling his fingers around her hips. “Ready, sweetheart?”  
  
Kathryn doesn’t bother to answer, simply widens her legs and raises her ass, and as Gabriel Lorca slides thickly inside her, the sound that fills her consciousness is the Emperor’s low, lascivious chuckle.  
  


* * *

  
  
The pace he sets is rough and steady, and Kathryn lets her eyes close and her lips part, not bothering to stifle the needy groans he’s pulling from her or to quell the sinuous arch and sway of her hips. He knows how to fuck, does Gabriel Lorca, and in this moment she’s going to enjoy that fact for all it’s worth. He can talk, too; filthy, evocative words he murmurs in her ear in that low and dirty drawl, words that make her pant and whine and push back into him, writhing to take in more of him.  
  
“Harder,” she whimpers, “fuck me harder,” and he laughs darkly and thrusts into her, one palm slapping her upturned ass and making her cry out.  
  
The soldiers murmur in appreciation; one or two of them laugh, but Kathryn glances over Bryce’s shoulder to survey them, and is satisfied that none of them are laughing at her.  
  
She looks at Bryce, bearing her weight as Gabriel thrusts into her shaking body. The young man’s gaze is fixed on her face, sweat dotting his forehead; his palms are warm against her ribcage. She presses closer, feels his hands shift to cover her breasts. The contact is divine, and she sighs in delight as his palms rub her aching nipples. Her orgasm is gathering, rolling in like a thunderhead. It won’t take much more … just a slight change of angle, a more direct touch …  
  
Gabriel snakes a hand across her pelvis and plays two fingers lightly over her clit, and Kathryn cries out, shuddering and clenching and writhing in his hold. He lunges into her twice, three times, and comes with a growl, holding her hard against him as he empties himself inside her.  
  
“No,” says Kashyk, so softly Kathryn almost doesn’t hear him.  
  
“Yes,” hisses the Emperor, stepping forward to bury her fingers in Kathryn’s hair as Lorca withdraws, tucking himself back into his pants.  
  
Crouching, she tips Kathryn’s face toward hers, waiting for Kathryn to catch her breath before she speaks again.  
  
“That was lovely, my dear,” she approves. “So well done, in fact, I think I’d like an encore.”  
  
“What?” gasps Kathryn.  
  
“Don’t worry,” soothes the other woman. “I’ll give you a moment to freshen up first. You may use my anteroom. Katrina, see to it,” and the Emperor straightens.  
  
“Wait,” Kathryn protests, but the Emperor ignores her.  
  
Bryce helps Kathryn upright as the Inquisitor appears at her side.  
  
“What should I do with the alien, Your Imperial Majesty?” asks Cornwell.  
  
The Emperor waves a hand. “She has earned the right to determine its fate.”  
  
Inquisitor Cornwell turns her pale-green eyes on Kathryn. “Well, intruder? What should we do with your pet?”  
  
Kathryn is naked, her pale skin pinched and reddened, semen staining her thighs, but she stands straight and regal as the Emperor herself.  
  
“Bring him,” she orders. “I’m not finished with him yet.”


	3. Chapter 3

He’s been banished without ceremony to kneel in a corner of the Emperor’s opulent suite. His hands are bound behind his back, a shock-collar locked to his throat, and his burly guard has threatened to gag him should the slightest sound pass his lips. His paramour – the one for whom he gave up his wife’s benevolent favour, a good portion of his fortune and very nearly his military standing – has just been fucked by another man before a huddled, attentive audience. And it’s blindingly clear that she enjoyed it.  
  
Kashyk has never been so humiliated in his life.  
  
He’s a seething mass of fury and vengeance and shamed excitement. And if he were the kind of man given to self-examination, he suspects he’d be busy reflecting on his reactions to this experience for years to come.  
  
As it is, he just wants to get the hell out of here. But that’s going to be difficult if he can’t get Kathryn alone.  
  


* * *

  
  
She’d shrugged back into her robe as the Inquisitor led them out of the throne room – _all those eyes on them_ , Kashyk shudders – and into this antechamber, and has carefully managed to keep possession of it, and the precious device concealed in its pocket, despite the attempts of Cornwell’s attendant, a drably-dressed teenager, to take it from her. The Inquisitor unbuckles the heavy bodice of her armour, tossing it carelessly over the back of a chaise, and arranges herself, long-limbed, across another.  
  
“Come here,” she beckons.  
  
Kathryn eyes her steadily. “Why?”  
  
“Because I told you to.”  
  
There’s steel in her voice, the kind that Kashyk has heard in Kathryn’s own, and Kathryn evidently decides defiance is pointless. Slowly, she walks forward until she’s standing a metre or so in front of the Inquisitor.  
  
“Closer.”  
  
Kathryn obeys.  
  
The Inquisitor spreads her legs and stares at her challengingly. “Closer.”  
  
It takes a beat, but Kathryn moves the necessary distance to place her directly between the Inquisitor’s knees.  
  
What the woman does next makes Kashyk yank so hard against his bonds that he feels the tendons creak in his wrists.  
  
Katrina slides one hand between Kathryn’s thighs, crooks two fingers inside her and brings them up to her mouth, licking them slowly to savour the taste.  
  
He can see Kathryn’s legs trembling, but she manages to bite down on her gasp.  
  
“Gabriel Lorca,” Katrina pronounces, “I’d know his taste anywhere,” and she smiles.  
  
Kathryn’s voice is hoarse but steady. “The way I hear it, that makes you and half the Empire.”  
  
Quick as a lash, the Inquisitor is on her feet, gloved hands wrapped around Kathryn’s neck. “You’re impertinent,” she whispers. “The Emperor is right – you’ve been too long away, and you need to be taught proper manners. Luckily, I’m an able teacher.”  
  
She releases Kathryn, who stumbles back, inhaling on a rasp, one hand to her throat. For a moment, Kashyk is certain she’s so badly injured that he’ll have to rescue her – somehow – but as the Inquisitor turns to murmur in the ear of her attendant and the girl scurries from the room, Kathryn continues her staggering trajectory until she bumps into him. As she crumples to the floor, he feels her slip the _limina_ into his cuffed hand. He closes his fingers around it quickly.  
  
“Januzzi,” Inquisitor Cornwell addresses the guard posted at the door, and he strides over and hooks Kathryn under the arm.  
  
“Get up,” he snarls, dragging her back to the chaise and shoving her onto it, face-down.  
  
The Inquisitor plants one booted foot in the base of Kathryn’s back and leans her weight into it. Kashyk can hear Kathryn’s involuntary groan of pain under the Inquisitor’s hissed, “What happens to you in the next hour is entirely at my pleasure, and I get a great deal of pleasure from inflicting pain on people who annoy me.”  
  
Kathryn’s voice is strained. “That seems difficult to avoid.”  
  
“Oh, sweetie,” Cornwell leans in again, her stiletto heel digging into the flesh of Kathryn’s lower back, “I _really_ hope you don’t try.”  
  


* * *

  
  
The attendant returns, handing Katrina a slim, black leather case and promptly backing out of the anteroom, relief written clear on her face. Kashyk’s gut tightens. He has his own collection of nondescript leather carrycases back on his warship, and he’s prepared to make an educated guess that Inquisitor Cornwell’s holds similar contents.  
  
Cornwell removes her boot from Kathryn’s back and turns to place the leather bag on the chaise beside her. She unzips the bag and draws something long, slender and gleaming black from it. Kashyk watches as Kathryn turns her head slightly to the side, trying to glimpse the object in order to identify it.  
  
Instantly, the Inquisitor’s arm flashes downward across Kathryn’s silk-clad thighs. Her yelp of pain and the spark that jolts her body tells Kashyk that this is no ordinary cane: it clearly carries some kind of charge, and from the way Kathryn holds herself stiff, panting for breath, it’s not the type she’s eager to experience again.  
  
“What’s the matter?” taunts Katrina. “Didn’t like that?”  
  
“Not particularly,” Kathryn grits out.  
  
“Aw.” The Inquisitor tosses the cane aside and ambles in Kashyk’s direction, unzipping her form-fitting black tunic top, letting it drop to the floor. Naked from the waist up, she strolls back toward Kathryn, leisurely unfastening her pants and peeling them down to her knees. “Turn around and kneel,” she instructs.  
  
Kathryn turns.  
  
Kashyk watches his lover’s eyes widen at the sight of the Inquisitor’s pale, slender torso and thighs. The taller woman’s stance is wide, her boots planted on the lush carpet, hands on her hips. Kashyk can’t see it, but he suspects there’s a smirk curling her lips.  
  
“If you don’t want more of the cane,” the Inquisitor informs Kathryn, “you’d better impress me.”  
  


* * *

  
  
The room is still.  
  
Kashyk reads disbelief on Kathryn’s face, chased by indignation and finally fury.  
  
“I’ve performed for the Emperor,” she says, voice low and even. “But I see no reason why I should service _you_.”  
  
Cornwell’s gaze flickers to the guard standing at the door. Immediately, he selects a long-tailed whip from the leather bag, raises his arm, and lashes it at Kathryn’s back.  
  
She cries out in agony as the tail curls like fire around her ribcage, her silk robe offering no protection, and falls to her hands and knees. Cornwell’s boot presses down on her shoulder.  
  
“I like defiance in my lovers,” Katrina tells her. “It’s exciting. Why else would I continue to allow Gabriel to live? But if you think I’m going to let your insolence go unpunished, think again.”  
  
Kathryn, panting, glares up at her. “Do your worst.”  
  
Kashyk can’t help wincing.  
  
“I intend to,” answers the Inquisitor. “After I kill your alien pet.”  
  
“No,” blurts Kathryn, her gaze switching to Kashyk.  
  
Warmth swells in his chest. So she does feel something for him. He’d been beginning to wonder …  
  
Katrina cocks her head to one side. “Interesting,” she murmurs. “Why do you care if it lives or dies?”  
  
Kathryn sits on her heels, gingerly stretching her sore back. “I told you. I want my revenge on him, and I want it slowly. I deserve the kill. Nobody else.”  
  
“I can respect that.” Katrina tilts her head. “You can earn the right to keep him, then.”  
  
“I already did that,” Kathryn says through clenched teeth.  
  
Cornwell switches her gaze to the guard, and before Kathryn can tense, the whip cracks across her back again. She sobs, dropping to her elbows.  
  
“No,” shouts Kashyk before he can stop himself, and the guard beside him backhands him viciously across the mouth, sending him sprawling, dazed, across the floor. Blood fills his mouth; his jaw throbs and his brain feels loose in his head.  
  
Worst of all, he drops the _limina_.  
  
It’s a miracle that neither Cornwell nor the guards see it, but Kathryn does. Clearly realising that Kashyk is too stunned to retrieve it, she draws in a pained, shuddering breath and rises to her knees, lifting her trembling hands to rest on Katrina’s parted thighs. She looks up at the Inquisitor like a supplicant, breathing harshly.  
  
“All right,” she rasps. “Tell me what you like.”  
  
The Inquisitor smiles.  
  


* * *

  
  
Katrina buries long fingers in Kathryn’s tousled hair and drags her between parted thighs. At the first touch of Kathryn’s tongue, the Inquisitor shudders and sighs, tangling her fingers in auburn locks until Kathryn’s neck arches to ease the pain.  
  
From his position on the floor, Kashyk blinks the blur from his eyes, mesmerised. He can see the muscles working in Kathryn’s long, white throat, the increased quiver in Cornwell’s slender frame, the reddened marks where Kathryn’s fingernails dig unconsciously into the other woman’s pale thigh.  
  
The sounds that fill the room are obscene – the moans, the lewd sucking, the choked whimpers of pain pulled involuntarily from Kathryn’s throat as the Inquisitor twines her fist in her hair. And the smells … Kashyk sucks in air, inhales the heady reek of feminine arousal and masculine sweat.  
  
He blinks again.  
  
The _limina_ lies half a metre from his hip.  
  
Both guards are riveted to the scene before him. If he’s ever to retrieve it, the time is now.  
  
Cautiously, he inches closer until he can cover it with his body, wriggling his bound hands beneath his own hip until he clutches it triumphantly again. And not a moment too soon.  
  
The Inquisitor’s moans have reached a crescendo. Her hips buck harshly into Kathryn’s face, arms straining to hold Kathryn to her. Then she flings her aside and staggers to the chaise, collapsing onto it.  
  
Kathryn kneels, shaking, on the floor, the back of one hand pressed to her mouth.  
  
At the door, Januzzi reaches down and adjusts the front of his pants.  
  
“All right,” Cornwell breaks the silence finally, her voice creamy, lazy. “You can keep your alien. Now stand up.”  
  
Kathryn gets carefully to her feet.  
  
“Strip.”  
  
Through the haze across his eyes, Kashyk watches Kathryn’s fill with tears. She hesitates.  
  
“Oh, what’s the matter, baby?” Cornwell’s voice is sugary. “Want me to return the favour?”  
  
“No,” Kathryn whispers.  
  
“Good,” says the Inquisitor. “You don’t deserve to come. But I want to see how wet you are, so strip.”  
  
Kathryn takes in a shuddering breath, but doesn’t obey.  
  
“Januzzi,” says Cornwell softly.  
  
This time, Kashyk can tell Kathryn is ready for the whip. But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.  
  
Nor the second strike, nor the third, nor –  
  


* * *

  
  
She’s on her knees, head hanging, the robe flayed from her body, white skin striped and bloody from countless lashes. Kashyk can see her shaking. Her hair mostly covers her face, but he can see blood on her lower lip where she’s bitten it in her attempt to stifle her screams.  
  
“Kathryn,” he whispers, but she doesn’t respond.  
  
“Madam Inquisitor,” murmurs Januzzi, rubbing the bicep of his whipping arm, “if I might point out – the Emperor was displeased the last time you accidentally … damaged … her new favourite. Perhaps we should call a halt.”  
  
“Good point,” sighs Cornwell. “Rhys, get the doctor in here. And tell him to bring her something to wear.”  
  
Januzzi coils the whip and places it carefully in the leather case as Rhys, the other guard, bows out of the room.  
  
“Oh, Kathryn,” Cornwell sing-songs into the silence. “Have you learned your lesson yet, sweetie?”  
  
Kashyk hears her swallow, and after a moment, Kathryn raises her head and meets the Inquisitor’s amused stare.  
  
“What lesson … would that be?” Her voice is rough and strained. “That you’re a … sadistic bitch who … has to order people to get her off?”  
  
The smirk drops from Katrina’s face. She hisses, “If you think that was sadistic –”  
  
But she’s interrupted: the door opens and a man strides in, tall, bronzed, with a shock of dark hair, wearing battered black leather from head to toe and a prodigious scowl.  
  
He stops short, glancing from Kathryn to the Inquisitor.  
  
“What have you done this time, Kat?” he demands in a Southern drawl, brash where Lorca’s had been languid. “Who’s the cupcake?”  
  
Cornwell gives him an expressionless look. “Can you fix her or not, Leonard?”  
  
He snorts, holding out a hand without speaking. Rhys hands him what Kashyk surmises is a medical kit, and Leonard crouches beside Kathryn, who is staring at him with what Kashyk recognises as awe.  
  
“I’m Leonard McCoy,” he introduces himself in a surprisingly gentle tone.  
  
“I know,” she blurts, then presses her lips together. “I mean … I’ve heard of you.”  
  
“And who might you be?”  
  
“My name is Kathryn.”  
  
McCoy glances at the Inquisitor again. “And what did you do to incite my dear wife’s displeasure, Kathryn?”  
  
“Your … wife?” Kathryn echoes faintly.  
  
“ _Ex_ -wife,” cuts in Cornwell. “And she was insubordinate. Enough chit-chat, Leonard. Did you bring her some clothes?”  
  
“I’m a doctor, not a dressmaker,” snaps McCoy, but gestures at Rhys, who produces a flimsy-looking shift dress.  
  
“That’s mine,” pronounces Katrina glacially.  
  
McCoy shrugs. “Got it in the divorce settlement.”  
  
“Fine,” Katrina hisses, standing and yanking up her pants, “call me when you’ve cleaned her up,” and she snags her tunic and stalks out of the room.  
  


* * *

  
  
“Can you stand, honey?” McCoy asks.  
  
Kathryn nods, accepting the offer of his arm as he guides her over to the chaise, but when she lowers herself onto it she winces.  
  
“Sore ass, huh?” the doctor says sympathetically. “Kat has a way of doing that to people. Here, lemme sort that out for you first. Bend over and put your hands on the seat.”  
  
Kathryn shoots him a look, but does as he says. In the corner, Kashyk shifts to get a better look; there’s something about this doctor he doesn’t trust, easy manner or no.  
  
“That’s it,” McCoy soothes, resting a bare hand on the upper curve of Kathryn’s behind. “Yeah, she really cut you up good. You, boy,” he orders Januzzi, “hand me that regenerator.”  
  
As he passes the instrument over Kathryn’s abused flesh, his other palm slides lower, curving around the globe of her ass, fingers spreading. Kathryn edges away, and he takes hold of her hip and slips a knee between her thighs from behind.  
  
“Just relax,” he murmurs. “You gotta stay still or the regenerator won’t work right.”  
  
From Kashyk’s vantage point, he can’t be entirely sure what the good doctor is up to. But he can clearly see his hands move, and he sees Kathryn gasp and clutch the back of the chaise.  
  
“What are you doing?” she whispers.  
  
“Making you feel better,” drawls McCoy. “Is it working?”  
  
“I don’t –” she cuts herself off on a moan, and Kashyk manages to edge far enough to one side to get a clearer view.  
  
The doctor has healed her entire back now, the regeneration device has been laid on the chaise, and his hands are busy: one arm is anchored across Kathryn’s chest, fingers cupping and pinching her right breast, the other hand buried deep between her thighs. His fingers are clearly slick; her legs are spread wide, pinned by the knee he’s thrust between them.  
  
Kashyk looks at her face. She wears an expression of shock tainted with undeniable lust; it’s clear she didn’t intend this, but equally obvious that now that it’s happening she’s reluctant to stop it. This doctor, he gathers, knows what he’s doing.  
  
McCoy is pressing into her from behind, rubbing his leather-clad cock into the crack of her ass, and as Kashyk watches, Kathryn begins to push back onto him. The doctor’s fingers move faster between her legs. Her eyes drift closed, her mouth drops open; her breath begins to come in short bursts, her chest beginning to flush the way it does when she’s close to climax.  
  
And then it hits her. She moans, long and low, her body sagging in McCoy’s grip. He holds her firmly around the waist as he fumbles with the fly on his pants and shoves himself inside her unceremoniously while she’s still clenching and convulsing. From the way her eyes go wide, Kashyk gathers he’s managed to shock her again, but she braces her hands against the chaise and works her ass against McCoy as he fucks her, hard and slow.  
  
Kashyk half-expects the doctor to come almost immediately, but it seems like the man has other plans. Strong hands manacle Kathryn’s hips as he ploughs into her. Her breath begins to hitch and waver, her thighs quivering, her back arching.  
  
“That’s my girl,” mutters McCoy approvingly.  
  
He drives into her forcefully, and she moans in response.  
  
“Come on, baby,” he croons, “you can do it again,” and he reaches around and tweaks her clit, and Kathryn groans and shatters into his hand as she’s filled, yet again, by someone who isn’t Kashyk.  
  
In the corner, Kashyk closes his eyes and wills his throbbing, humiliating erection away.


	4. Chapter 4

McCoy heaves himself up from his slumped position over Kathryn’s back and slaps her on the rump, grinning. “There you go, honey. Just what the doctor ordered.”  
  
Slowly, she collects the scattered, woolly remnants of her sanity into something that begins to resemble outrage. She pushes upright and turns to face him.  
  
McCoy is tucking himself back into his pants; the third person since she’s arrived in this universe who hasn’t bothered to completely disrobe before having their way with her. She amps up the force of her glare, but he just smirks.  
  
“Won’t work on me,” he says. “I was married to Madam Inquisitor, remember? And my balls ain’t shrivelled up yet.”  
  
Kathryn snatches the shift dress he’d brought from the chaise beside her. “I believe Madam Inquisitor left orders for me to clean up,” she says tightly.  
  
“Bathroom’s that way.” McCoy waves a nonchalant hand. As he turns, he spots Kashyk for seemingly the first time. “What the fuck is that, now?”  
  
“ _He_ is my slave,” Kathryn emphasises. “And he needs medical attention. See to it, please.”  
  
McCoy cocks his head. “You want me to waste Terran medicine on that?”  
  
Kathryn grits her teeth. “To phrase it in a way you’ll understand: it’s no use to me if it’s unable to work. So, yes. I want you to heal it.” She adds, “ _Now_ ,” and heads for the bathroom on legs she refuses to admit are shaking so badly she can barely walk in a straight line.  
  


* * *

  
  
Kathryn goes to the sink first, bracing her hands against it and bowing her head to catch her breath. She can’t look in the mirror.  
  
She isn’t entirely sure what she’ll see.  
  
Before the swelling ache in her throat can dissolve into the kind of crying storm she’s afraid she might not be able to stop, she straightens up and activates the faucet, cupping her hands under the icy water and splashing it on her face. The shock halts her oncoming hysteria, thankfully, and braces her enough to order the shower on, extra hot, and step under the spray. There’s a washcloth and plenty of soft gel soap that smells like vanilla and lime, and she makes thorough use of both, staying under as long as she dares. It’s only her concern for Kashyk, and how these people are probably treating him in her absence, that drives her from the shower.  
  
When she returns to the anteroom – scrubbed, hair combed, dressed in the flimsy, translucent shift – McCoy has gone, and Kashyk sits propped against the wall in the corner. His hands are still bound behind his back, but the bloodied bruise on his jaw is gone and his dark eyes are clear. They are fixed warily on the two guards, Januzzi and Rhys, who stand either side of the bathroom door staring menacingly back at Kashyk and looking as though they’d enjoy nothing more than ripping off a limb or two.  
  
At least, until Kathryn re-enters the room and their attention switches to her, hungry in an entirely different way.  
  
She suppresses a shudder.  
  
A soft whir signals the opening of the main entrance, and Inquisitor Cornwell appears in freshly-shined armour and boots with heels even more wickedly sharp than the last pair. She walks directly up to Kathryn, tilting her chin up with one forefinger.  
  
“Acceptable,” she acknowledges, then lets the hand drop to cup and squeeze Kathryn’s breast, naked under the thin shift. “My outfit suits you.”  
  
Kathryn grinds her teeth.  
  
“Turn around,” Cornwell orders.  
  
Kathryn turns, and the Inquisitor gathers her hair and smooths it over one shoulder, tracing the visible knobs of Kathryn’s spine above the low, scooped back of the dress. She pushes a strap from one shoulder, strokes her palm over smooth skin, turns Kathryn to face her again and eases the strap back into place, leisurely moulding her hands to curves and planes. Her fingers rest lightly on Kathryn’s hips.  
  
“Leonard did a nice job,” she remarks. “Was he thorough?”  
  
From behind her, Januzzi coughs.  
  
“You have something to say, Lieutenant?”  
  
“No, Madam.”  
  
Cornwell’s eyes narrow as she leans back to study Kathryn’s face.  
  
“He fucked you, didn’t he?”  
  
Kathryn meets her eyes. “Yes.”  
  
Katrina backhands her faster than she can blink, the Inquisitor’s ornate ring slicing open a vicious cut on her cheekbone. Kathryn staggers back, gasping, one hand pressed to her bleeding cheek.  
  
“That whore,” Cornwell hisses. “Never could keep it in his pants … I should have cut it off in his sleep.”  
  
A red haze rises behind Kathryn’s eyes. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she whispers.  
  
The Inquisitor’s head snaps round. “ _What_ did you say?”  
  
But Kathryn stands her ground. “I didn’t ask to get caught in the middle of your marital dispute,” she grinds out. “So why don’t you two see a counsellor and leave me out of it?”  
  
There’s a knife at her throat before she can form her next word.  
  


* * *

  
  
Several things happen at once.  
  
“Kathryn!” cries Kashyk, earning himself a kick from Rhys.  
  
“Do it,” Kathryn goads, tilting her neck to press it more closely against the wicked blade Katrina holds to her tender throat. Blood wells: two drops, three.  
  
And the Emperor strides into her antechamber, flinging a cloak from her shoulders as she walks, and coming to a halt in front of Kathryn and the Inquisitor.  
  
“Kat, what is this?” she demands, knocking Cornwell’s knife hand to one side and tipping Kathryn’s chin up to the light. “You’ve marked her.”  
  
Cornwell sheaths the knife at her belt and presses her lips together, white with fury. “I apologise, Philippa. She pissed me off.”  
  
The Emperor whirls, seeming to dart through the air, her heel connecting with the Inquisitor’s jaw and knocking the taller woman flying. Cornwell is on her back, the Emperor squatting on her chest with that vicious longsword pressed flat to the Inquisitor’s throat before Kathryn can even close her mouth.  
  
“Do not presume to use my name when we are not in my bedchamber, Katrina,” hisses the Emperor.  
  
“I’m sorry, Your Imperial Majesty.” Cornwell swallows tightly. “I’ll never do it again.”  
  
“No, you won’t.” The Emperor rises gracefully. “You’ll never be invited there again, nor will you bear the title of Inquisitor. You’ve displeased me too often, taken too many liberties.” She sheaths her sword. “Lieutenant Januzzi, escort this garbage out.”  
  
Cornwell sits up, dazed. “Your Majesty –”  
  
“Get out!”  
  
Katrina Cornwell stands, unbuckles her armour and places it carefully at her Emperor’s feet. She bows from the waist, then turns and walks, straight-backed, to the door.  
  
“Oh, Katrina?”  
  
She turns; the Emperor is smiling sweetly.  
  
“Send in the boys on your way out, will you?”  
  


* * *

  
  
“My dear, let me look at that cut.”  
  
The Emperor beckons Kathryn close. All the tiny hairs on the back of Kathryn’s neck stand at attention at her proximity as the other woman probes lightly at her lacerated cheekbone. Her fingers are long and cool and elegant, her touch deft. Her breath is sweet.  
  
The cut smarts, Kathryn winces, and dark eyelashes flicker as the Emperor observes her.  
  
“You’re tougher than you look, my dear,” she murmurs.  
  
Kathryn smiles faintly. “So I’ve been told.”  
  
“You’ve passed every test I’ve set for you so far, and some I haven’t.”  
  
Kathryn says nothing.  
  
The Emperor’s fingers still and she looks into Kathryn’s eyes. “Don’t you have anything to say?”  
  
“I do have a question.”  
  
“Ask it.”  
  
“I can’t help wondering why you choose certain methods of determining your subjects’ loyalty.”  
  
The dark eyes crinkle in amusement. “You think it’s ludicrous?”  
  
“Curious,” Kathryn hedges. “Why not set a different kind of test? Have me unearth a secret or destroy an enemy, for example?”  
  
“Sometimes, those are the tests I set.” The Emperor shrugs. “It depends on the person I’m testing, and what I need most at the time. As both my army and my intelligence operatives are second to none, I don’t usually need an assassin or a secret agent.”  
  
“I see.”  
  
The Emperor leans in and whispers, “Or maybe I’m just a kinky bitch,” and flicks out the tip of her tongue to catch a drop of blood from Kathryn’s cheek.  
  
Kathryn jerks backward, breath catching in her throat, and the Emperor laughs.  
  
The door chimes.  
  
“I have one more test for you, my dear,” she says, smiling, and calls out, “Enter.”  
  


* * *

  
  
_Oh God, no._  
  
Kathryn’s stomach tightens unbearably as her final test steps through the doorway.  
  
“Come in, boys,” the Emperor instructs, voice creamy. “Meet your entertainment for the evening.”  
  
She takes each man by the hand and brings them over to Kathryn.  
  
“My dear, I believe you’ve already had the pleasure of Captain Gabriel Lorca,” she purrs.  
  
Lorca smiles slowly as he takes her hand and bends to kiss it. “The pleasure was at least half mine.”  
  
“And this is Captain Christopher Pike.”  
  
_No_ , thinks Kathryn as she turns toward the laugh-crinkled blue eyes and silvered hair of the second Starfleet legend she’s come face to face with tonight.  
  
She’s always felt it’s a bad idea to meet one’s heroes, and after her encounter with Dr McCoy, she hasn’t changed that belief. Even if he was a twisted, corrupt version of the man she’d been taught to revere.  
  
But _Christopher Pike_ …  
  
“And who might you be?” the man in question is saying, his smile engaging as he offers his hand.  
  
And she doesn’t remember those century-old holos showing him as being quite so _attractive_.  
  
She takes it, forcing herself not to blush like a starstruck schoolgirl. “My name is Kathryn.”  
  
“Captain Pike just arrived from patrolling the rebel bases in the Lacerta sector,” the Emperor explains. “I’m sure it’s been a dull and lonely tour of duty, hasn’t it, Christopher? And I did say you deserve a little treat.”  
  
Pike’s gaze travels from Kathryn’s low-cut neckline, over her involuntarily-hardening nipples, down to her abbreviated hemline, and drags all the way up again.  
  
“When you said _treat_ , Pippa, I was expecting your chef’s finest ganglia,” he drawls. “You’ve really outdone yourself.”  
  
It’s the final straw.  
  
She might be barefoot and dressed in next to nothing where the rest of them are shod and armoured. She might have spent the past three hours being used in various humiliating and sexually sadistic displays for other people’s amusement. She might be pleading for her life, and Kashyk’s.  
  
But Kathryn has had enough.  
  
“I’m not a treat,” she tells him evenly. “I’m a human being, and I deserve respect, as much as any of you do.” She turns her gaze on the Emperor. “And if you think I’m going to perform any more of your perverted loyalty rituals tonight, you can think again.”  
  
Silence falls thick in the room. Kashyk, the guards, Lorca, all seem to be holding their breath; even Pike’s gaze is riveted to the Emperor’s face, his shoulders tensed as they wait for her to explode into predictable and devastating violence.  
  
The Emperor throws back her head and laughs.  
  
“Oh, my dear,” she manages, resting a hand on Kathryn’s shoulder, “I do like you very much. You’ve done even better than I’d hoped.”  
  
Kathryn stares at her coolly as the Emperor’s laughter subsides. “Does that mean I’ve passed your little test?”  
  
Philippa Georgiou’s smile now holds not an ounce of warmth or humour. “Oh, no,” she purrs. “You’ll fuck them both – right here, right now – and you’ll make me enjoy it. Or I’ll kill you.”  
  


* * *

  
  
To his credit, Pike steps forward, his voice low and intimate, pitched for the Emperor’s ears.  
  
“Pippa,” he cajoles. “Couldn’t we get rid of the storm troopers, at least? It’s not as if we need them here. You, Gabe and I are more than capable of dealing with one shackled alien and one little unarmed woman.” He grins wolfishly. “Especially if we’re keeping her busy.”  
  
The Emperor inclines her head. “Januzzi. Rhys. You’re dismissed.”  
  
The guards about-face and exit the room. Kathryn locks eyes briefly with Kashyk; he nods fractionally, telling her that yes, he’s all right, and yes, he still has possession of the _limina_.  
  
Once again, Kathryn makes the choice that really isn’t a choice at all.  
  
Stepping forward, she places a hand squarely in the centre of Pike’s chest, tucking the other into Lorca’s belt and tugging him close.  
  
“Well then, Captains,” she murmurs, “why don’t you show me why you two are considered Imperial Starfleet’s best and brightest?”  
  
Gabriel’s chuckle warms her ear as he drops his face to nuzzle her neck; she angles her throat to allow him access, sighing at the softness of his lips. Not to be outdone, Christopher’s palm slides onto her hip, his thumb rubbing into the crease of her pelvis and kicking up a low, thrumming pulse in her abdomen.  
  
The Emperor glides past them to arrange herself on the chaise, head propped on her hand, a faint smile on her lips, and Kathryn is reminded that this isn’t just about the three of them. It’s also about the show.  
  
She thinks about the way they look together: two tall men – one dark, one grey – in heavy-armoured uniform, and her, barefoot and dainty and barely-dressed, auburn hair loose.  
  
The Emperor clearly enjoys artistry. If Kathryn wants to win her favour, she’d better make this look good.  
  
Kathryn manoeuvres the three of them side-on, pushing her back against Pike’s chest, winding her fingers into his and bringing them to her breasts. He cups them obligingly, dipping his mouth to her neck. Shivers spiral down the length of her spine at his low growl, and he presses her forward into Gabriel Lorca, who loops his arms around her hips and starts to gather the fabric of her dress in his hands, crumpling it until his fingertips stroke the soft curve of her naked behind.  
  
Gabriel lowers his head, chasing her lips, but she dodges him nimbly, letting him latch onto her collarbone instead. She has no intention of letting either of these men kiss her on the lips. It’s an act she has come to consider more intimate than sex – an act she’s managed to almost entirely avoid in her two years with Kashyk, and she cares about him a little, at least, much as she’d prefer not to admit it.  
  
She pushes her hands between her body and Lorca’s, cups his burgeoning erection and feels his answering thrust of the hips. He cups her ass, one bare cheek in each large hand, and lifts her, supporting her between the two male torsos; she wraps her arms around his neck and wriggles to widen her legs around him, to increase the friction of his uniform fabric against her clitoris.  
  
“Fuck,” mutters Gabriel, tracing along the edges of her lower lips, “you’re so wet,” and he slips two fingers just inside her and Kathryn shivers and moans.  
  
“Hey,” Christopher grumbles from behind her, hands still stroking her breasts. “Feeling a little left out here.”  
  
Kathryn half-laughs, reaching behind to snake one hand down the front of his pants. “Oh,” she can’t help uttering as she curls her fingers around his shaft. That’s … quite sizeable, and Lorca’s packing a type 3 phaser too. For the first time it occurs to her that the Emperor’s going to expect her to take both of them at once. She’s done that before, but it’s been a while since her academy days, and she doesn’t quite bend the way she used to back then.  
  
Besides, she’s going to need a little help.  
  
“Captain,” she whispers, squirming on Gabriel’s fingers.  
  
“Yeah?” both of them ask in unison.  
  
“Captain Lorca,” she clarifies. “Do you think you could put me down?”  
  
“Do I have to?” he grins. “I let you go, Chris gets his hands on you and there goes my advantage.”  
  
“But you’ve already had me,” she reminds him, leaning in to nip at his earlobe. “Play fair.”  
  
He grumbles, but he eases her feet to the floor and she immediately wraps Pike’s arms around her from behind, widening her stance to guide his hands between her legs. Lorca steps back to watch them, a smile spreading across his face.  
  
“Captain,” she recalls his attention, her voice breathy as Christopher’s fingers play in the wet flesh of her cunt.  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“We’re going to need some lubricant.”  
  
“You’re right, Pippa,” Lorca addresses the Emperor without taking his eyes from Kathryn and Pike. “She’s a treat.”  
  


* * *

  
  
She’s so close to coming.  
  
They’ve coaxed off her shift dress, laid her out on the rug between them. Both men have stripped to the waist; Gabriel still wears his uniform pants, though unzipped, Chris down to his shorts. Kathryn’s legs are spread wide; Lorca has two fingers inside her pussy and is working a lubricated thumb carefully into her ass while Pike’s fingers circle her clit maddeningly, keeping her just on the edge. His mouth is busy at her breasts, her neck, her belly, sucking and nipping, making her writhe and leap with each new place he finds with tongue and teeth.  
  
The Emperor is leaning forward, elbows on her knees, her lips parted and flushed, riveted to the action.  
  
In the corner of the room, Kashyk is carefully testing the security of his bonds to no avail.  
  
Lorca’s thumb slips past the tight ring of muscle and Kathryn moans needily. “Please …”  
  
“She’s ready for some serious fucking every which where.” Gabriel grins at Chris. “I’m feeling magnanimous. Your choice, Pike.”  
  
“You’re a real gentleman, Lorca,” Pike answers drily, and leans in to nuzzle at Kathryn’s cheek. “Kathryn, honey? What do you want?”  
  
“I want …” She can barely form words; she clutches at his shoulders, rubbing her breasts against his chest. “I want to see you.”  
  
“Okay,” he says softly, lying back and pulling her onto him. “Wrap your legs around me, baby.”  
  
She shifts her thighs around his hips, her torso flat against his. His cock, rigid and pulsing, lies directly between her legs and she wriggles a little to rub her clit against it, enjoying his sharp inhale.  
  
“Hold still a moment,” he murmurs, gently stroking her back, and she feels Lorca’s hands holding her hips as he presses the tip of his penis against her lubricated ass.  
  
Kathryn tenses involuntarily, and Christopher slides one hand between their bodies, dipping over her aching clitoris and curling just inside her core.  
  
“Relax,” he says, and she quivers and loosens, and Gabriel pushes slowly, inexorably, and slides inside.  
  
“God,” she moans, almost unintelligibly, as he begins to move.  
  
When she starts to press back against him and pant in Christopher’s ear, Lorca slows in response to another signal from Pike and waits for the other man to ease Kathryn’s hips a little higher, just enough to push Chris’s cock inside her. Carefully they guide her down, Chris’s hands on her hips, Lorca’s finding her breasts; as she lowers her torso again, Pike’s lips latch onto one nipple and Gabriel bends over her back, licking his way along the length of her spine.  
  
And then they begin the rhythm, a slow, alternating push-pull, one dragging outward as the other thrusts in, spiralling upward through layers of pleasure until Kathryn wonders if she’ll die before she can burst through the peak: but in the end, all it takes is the slightest brush of Chris’s thumb over her nub and she whines and spasms, her body too wracked with exhaustion to fully express the rapture that takes hold of her.


	5. Chapter 5

Kashyk screws his eyes closed, wishing he could shut out the lewd and graphic sounds as easily as the sight of his lover coming apart in the arms of these two men. He hears Lorca growl, low and feral, and a moment later Pike mumbles something that could be a string of endearments or simply gibberish. Kathryn sobs, once, and the next sound Kashyk hears is one of the men shushing her.  
  
Curiosity drives him to crack open his eyes, and he immediately wishes he hadn’t. Lorca has removed himself from the tableau and is pulling his uniform back on, but Pike still holds Kathryn close, her face in his hands, his lips pressing light kisses to her forehead, her cheek and hair. She’s trembling, her hands curled loosely against his chest, and Pike is whispering, “It’s okay, honey, I’ve got you,” over and over, and if Kashyk didn’t know better he’d swear he was spying on a pair of lovers locked in intimacy.  
  
But then the Emperor uncoils herself from the chaise and walks toward them, looming over the couple, one hand casually flipping and catching a knife she’s pulled from the sheath at her belt.  
  
Pike looks up at her and grins.  
  
“Well, Christopher?” the Emperor says. “Did you enjoy your treat?”  
  
“You know, Pippa,” he drawls, helping Kathryn untangle her limbs from his own and stand, looping his arm around her waist to support her, “I’m not sure I’ve thanked you for your generosity. Why don’t we let Kathryn here rest for a bit while I show you my appreciation? Maybe she can even join us later.”  
  
The Emperor’s eyebrow arches. “Tempting,” she concedes. The knife flips and she catches it easily. “But I was rather hoping to test Kathryn’s stamina for just a little longer. You see, I have plans for her, but I have to be certain she’s worthy of them.”  
  
Pike looks down at Kathryn, who’s still leaning against him, though she’s stopped shuddering. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he shrugs. “No rest for the wicked, I guess.”  
  
He extricates himself from her gently, scoops up his uniform from the floor and dresses quickly, following Lorca out of the antechamber.  
  
Kashyk watches as Kathryn straightens under the Emperor’s scrutiny. Naked, again; sex-flushed, again. Her limbs tremble finely with exhaustion, but her chin is held high and her gaze is steady.  
  
“Well done, my dear,” the Emperor addresses her. She tosses the dagger again; it executes a perfect aerial flip and alights in her waiting hand. “You’ve proved to me that you can follow orders. You’ve proved your courage under pressure. You’ve proved you can improvise and entertain.”  
  
She tilts her head to one side, studying Kathryn closely, her gaze wandering over the fine-boned face, the upturned breasts, the narrow waist and slender legs. She steps closer, deliberately, until they’re almost touching.  
  
The knife flips in the air, its hilt landing neatly in the Emperor’s palm.  
  
In her spike-heeled boots the Emperor is several centimetres taller than the barefooted Kathryn, whose gaze is fixed directly ahead. Kashyk can see her chest rising and falling quickly.  
  
“Look at me, dear,” the Emperor says softly.  
  
Kathryn swallows.  
  
The knife in the Emperor’s hand is suddenly flat under Kathryn’s chin, tilting it up, forcing Kathryn’s gaze to lift.  
  
“I said, _look at me_.”  
  
Their eyes meet.  
  
“Perhaps you need a lesson in following orders, after all,” purrs the Emperor, and she turns the blade and drags its point with utmost delicacy down the centre of Kathryn’s throat, over her sternum and down, circling her navel, until she halts at her pubic mound.  
  
As Kashyk watches, a thin scarlet line blooms on Kathryn’s white skin. The Emperor hums in approval. She dips her head to lick at the line of blood, blurring it, and meets Kathryn’s eyes again.  
  
Kathryn’s gaze never wavers.  
  
“Kiss me,” says the Emperor, and parts her lips in anticipation.  
  
Kathryn says, “No.”  
  
The Emperor’s eyes widen. “What?”  
  
“I’ve done everything else you’ve demanded of me.” Kathryn’s voice is strained, and Kashyk realises the Emperor’s blade is pressing into the soft flesh of her lower abdomen. Blood wells from its tip and begins to trickle down into her cleft. “I’ve proved my loyalty and my worth. Don’t ask this of me.”  
  
“I … don’t … _ask_ ,” the Emperor whispers, and turns the knifepoint, dragging it upward along the centre of Kathryn’s torso until it reaches its originating point, just under her chin.  
  
Kathryn flinches. It’s an infinitesimal movement, but to Kashyk, it’s a screaming neon sign that she’s just about ready to crumble.  
  
And he can’t let that happen.  
  
“Hey,” he barks. “Hell-bitch.”  
  
The Emperor’s attention switches to Kashyk, and for a moment he quails. Fury mingles with revulsion in her dark, narrowed eyes. She crosses the room in three strides, the point of her dagger finding the soft meat under his left ribcage.  
  
“You dare address me, _rubeta_?” she hisses, low. “I’ll gut you and feed your entrails to my dogs!”  
  
The knife slides into his stomach like butter and Kashyk groans through gritted teeth. “Better that,” he manages, “than let you lay a filthy finger on my woman.”  
  
The Emperor bares her teeth.  
  
But before she can plunge the blade deeper and undoubtedly kill him, her arm is caught from behind.  
  
“Stop,” says Kathryn, plucking the blade from her hand and holding it to the Emperor’s throat.  
  
The Emperor stills.  
  
“You’re playing a very dangerous game, my dear,” she says in voice so soft Kashyk’s spine crystallises.  
  
“Maybe,” Kathryn says, equally softly. She leans in so close her lips brush the Emperor’s ear. “But I think you like it … _Pippa_.”  
  
And she closes her teeth around the Emperor’s earlobe and bites down. Hard.  
  
The Emperor utters a sound that’s a cross between a hiss and a growl, and shoots one gloved hand around Kathryn’s wrist. Kathryn gasps, releasing her bite and dropping the knife, and the Emperor flips her easily onto her back, straddling her and shifting her hold to circle Kathryn’s throat with one hand. The other reaches back to plunge two fingers into Kathryn’s cunt.  
  
Kathryn wheezes for air around the Emperor’s tightening fist, blood staining her lips, her hips bucking upward – though whether to dislodge the other woman or to encourage the movement of her stroking fingers, Kashyk can’t be certain. He watches, doubled over in pain, his lifeblood eking from the wound in his abdomen, as Kathryn arches her back and scrabbles at the Emperor’s vice-like grasp.  
  
But the events of the long night have taken their toll, and Kathryn’s efforts to free herself grow weak and spasmodic. Her legs jerk and shudder; her hands twitch and drift to the floor beside her body. Her eyes flutter closed, her desperate sips for oxygen growing erratic.  
  
Her thighs fall apart, and Kashyk can see the Emperor’s leather-clad fingers stroking, stroking, slick with Kathryn’s juices. Kathryn’s hips twitch.  
  
The Emperor laughs.  
  
“You don’t know what to do, do you?” she croons. “What do you want, my dear? Do you want to come, or do you want to breathe?”  
  
She eases her grip on Kathryn’s throat just enough to let Kathryn suck in a rattling breath.  
  
It’s a mistake.  
  
Kathryn’s left hand gropes for the discarded knife and closes around its hilt. With a herculean effort, she twists her hips violently, dislodging the Emperor and flipping the other woman over. Her thighs clamp around the Emperor’s hips.  
  
Her left hand brings the knife to the Emperor’s throat.  
  
Kathryn coughs, lungs rattling, crimson marks mottling her throat. She’s shaking so fiercely she can barely hold the blade. But she’s the one smiling now.  
  
The Emperor looks up at her, still.  
  
“What are you going to do?” she taunts. “Kill me?”  
  
Kathryn looks like she’s seriously considering it, Kashyk thinks. But she shakes her head.  
  
“That’s not my style,” she rasps. “And besides, I prefer to play the long game.”  
  
“What’s that supposed to mean?” the Emperor asks suspiciously.  
  
Silently, Kashyk echoes the sentiment.  
  
In response, Kathryn eases the knife away from the Emperor’s throat. She drags it slowly downward over the woman’s leather breastplate, the sharp blade slicing easily through each leather thong, until the corset falls away to reveal the Emperor’s pristine, golden torso.  
  
“Very nice,” Kathryn murmurs, leaning down briefly to bite at one brown nipple.  
  
The Emperor catches her breath, but Kathryn is not to be distracted. Rising up again, she continues the path of the knife, cutting through the ties lacing the front of the Emperor’s pants, parting the leather until the blade can go no further. And then she tosses the knife aside and plunges her hand between the Emperor’s legs, curling her fingers into hot, creamy flesh.  
  
“Oh, Pippa,” Kathryn utters in a voice of smug satisfaction, “I might win this game after all.”  
  
And as her fingers begin to move, and the Emperor moans and shudders and arches her back, Kashyk, bleeding slowly onto the floor, wonders just whose game it is they’re playing.  
  


* * *

  
  
The Emperor lies shell-shocked on the floor. Her smooth black hair is tangled, her lipstick bitten away, her leather garb in useless tatters. Her long legs are sprawled open, and between them lies Kathryn Janeway, who has just raised her wet mouth from the Emperor’s sodden cunt.  
  
“My God,” says Philippa Georgiou.  
  
If Kashyk wasn’t so close to passing out from blood loss, he might agree.  
  
Kathryn licks a slow line along the inner crease of the Emperor’s thigh and sits back on her heels. “I’d like to let you bask in the afterglow, Pippa,” she tells her, “but I’m a bit pressed for time.”  
  
“You have somewhere better to be?” Philippa eyes her lazily.  
  
“Not me. Him.” Kathryn nods at Kashyk, slumped onto his side in a pool of blood. “He’s dying.”  
  
“So? I’ll give you a new slave. I’ll give you a hundred slaves if you’ll make me come like that twice a week for the rest of my life.”  
  
“I don’t want another slave, Pippa,” Kathryn cajoles, leaning down to trace her lips over the Emperor’s bloodied earlobe. “I want this one.”  
  
The Emperor sighs. “Fine. There’s a medical kit behind the panel over there. If you can’t figure out how to use it, call Dr McCoy.”  
  
“I’ll work it out,” Kathryn answers with a shudder, getting quickly to her feet to retrieve the medkit.  
  
“And Kathryn?”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“When you’ve finished, I have a surprise for you.”  
  
Kashyk watches Kathryn’s face fall.  
  
“Don’t worry,” says Philippa. “You’ll like it.”  
  


* * *

  
  
Kashyk is held by Januzzi and Rhys before the ranks of soldiers in the Emperor’s throne room. He’s dressed in rough drawstring trousers that feel like burlap, but he’s on his feet, healed and unshackled.  
  
The Emperor, resplendent in a gold cloak, stands on her dais in the ring of lights. At either side of her, decked out in full, impressive uniform, are Captains Pike and Lorca. They’re facing the enormous set of doors at the far end of the throne chamber, the ones through which the Inquisitor had escorted Kashyk and Kathryn when they’d arrived in this universe.  
  
Had that only been six hours ago? Kashyk shakes his head.  
  
The double doors swing open and a woman strides through. She’s dressed in the uniform of the Terran Empire: close-cut, midnight-coloured fabric overlaid by ornate gold armour. Her gait is strong and confident, her head high, her auburn hair loose over her shoulders. She bears a bloodied cut across her cheekbone and signs of strangulation around her neck, but her lips are turned upward in the slightest of smiles.  
  
She strides directly up to the throne and stops before it, bowing low at the waist.  
  
“Rise, my dear,” instructs the Emperor as she descends from the dais. “The uniform suits you.”  
  
“Thank you, Your Imperial Majesty.”  
  
The Emperor takes her hand, turning them both to face the crowd and raising her voice.  
  
“I present to you all my new Inquisitor,” she announces, “and the newest ranking officer in the Imperial Starfleet: Captain Kathryn Janeway.”  
  
“Long live the Empire,” shout the troops in unison.  
  
“Long live the Empire,” Kathryn echoes, a smile playing about her lips.  
  
Deep in Kashyk’s gut churns a cold pit of fear.  
  


* * *

  
  
“Take the slave to my quarters,” Kathryn had ordered after the ceremony, and Kashyk had been bundled through corridors and shoved into an opulent suite, left to pace the length of it alone. He’s tried to activate the food synthesiser and found it locked down; triggering the exit door earned him an elbow in the stomach from the guard posted outside Kathryn’s brand-new quarters.  
  
After half an hour’s cooling his heels, he’s so frustrated and indignant that if he still had the _limina_ , he thinks he might try using it to get home without her. But she’d taken possession of it before the guards had led him away to change his clothing. He has no choice but to wait.  
  
Finally, just when he’s trying to come up with some no doubt suicidal plan to break out of the suite and find her, she strides in, ordering, “Computer, seal the doors.”  
  
She walks straight over to him and lifts her hands to his face, blue eyes limpid with concern.  
  
“Are you all right?” she asks.  
  
And Kashyk finds himself curling his hands around her wrists, letting go of a good portion of the anger and the worry and the humiliation he’s endured over the past seven hours. Not all of it. But enough that he doesn’t feel the need to make her pay for everything he’s suffered.  
  
“Where’s the _limina_?” he demands instead.  
  
Kathryn steps back and fishes it from inside her armoured bodice. “I slipped into the bathroom so I could steal a few minutes to study it,” she says. “It’s not good news.”  
  
“Explain.” That gut-clenching fear is back. If they’re stuck here –  
  
“The device’s power source is almost depleted. If I can’t reset the coordinates to send us back where we came from, I don’t think we’ll get another chance.”  
  
“Then you’d better make sure your calculations are accurate,” Kashyk grinds out.  
  
“ _My_ calculations?” Kathryn raises an eyebrow.  
  
“You’re the scientist.”  
  
“Whom you haven’t allowed access to any technology more advanced than a speak-and-spell for two years.”  
  
“If you’re referring to the educational toy I gave you so you could learn the Devoran tongue, you know very well that I know you hacked it. Prax intercepted the message you attempted to send to _Voyager_.”  
  
“You didn’t expect me not to test you, surely?” Kathryn moves to the viewport on the pretext of angling the _limina_ to the starlight to better see the controls.  
  
Moving up close behind her, Kashyk lifts the hair from her neck and presses his mouth to the spot under her ear that always makes her shiver. “On the contrary – I expected you to challenge me daily. That was always part of your appeal for me, Kathryn.”  
  
She shifts away. “I just wanted them to know I was okay,” she says so quietly he can’t be certain he’s heard her.  
  
There’s a chime at the door.  
  
“Come,” calls Kathryn, tucking the _limina_ into her bodice and moving quickly away from Kashyk.  
  
Lieutenant Januzzi steps over the threshold and bows obsequiously. “Captain, uh, Inquisitor, the Emperor requests your presence in her bedchamber.”  
  
Kathryn can’t quite mask her dismay. “Tonight?”  
  
“Yes, ma’am.” He waits.  
  
She raises her eyebrows. “You mean now?”  
  
“Yes, ma’am.”  
  
She rubs her forehead. “I need to freshen up. Wait outside, Lieutenant. I’ll be fifteen minutes.”  
  
Januzzi looks pained, but nods. With a third “yes ma’am,” he bows his way out of the room.  
  
Kathryn locks eyes with Kashyk. “We have fifteen minutes to figure out those coordinates, and hope like hell the power cell holds up.”  
  
“Then let’s get to work.”  
  


* * *

  
  
“I think I’ve got it,” Kathryn utters tensely.  
  
“Are you sure?” Kashyk leans over to check the sequence she’s entering into the tiny control panel.  
  
She shrugs one shoulder in irritation. “Would you be able to tell if I was doing it wrong?”  
  
Since he probably wouldn’t, he bites his tongue and lets the jibe pass, concentrating instead on the quicksilver movements of her slender fingers and the tiny beads of perspiration along her hairline that he’d like to lick.  
  
The door chime sounds and Kathryn swears. “I thought we had a few more minutes.”  
  
“Apparently not. Do you have it yet?”  
  
“Al…most … Got it,” she claims triumphantly, “I’m ninety-six percent sure.”  
  
“Only ninety-six?” Kashyk asks in alarm.  
  
Januzzi’s fist thuds on the door. “Inquisitor, open the door!”  
  
“Sounds like good odds to me,” Kashyk mutters.  
  
Kathryn’s fingers trip across the panel, and they’re enveloped in swirls of indigo light.  
  


* * *

  
  
Kashyk curls his toes into familiar carpet and just barely restrains himself from dropping down to kiss it. He drinks in their surroundings, just to be sure. But it’s all right. These are his quarters, on his ship.  
  
There is his bed, the sheets rumpled just as they left them, seven hours and a century and a universe ago. He slumps onto it in relief and pulls Kathryn into his arms, laughter bubbling in his chest.  
  
“We’re home,” he exults.  
  
“Yes,” she echoes, glancing away, “home.”  
  


* * *

  
  
“Well, that was an adventure,” Kashyk declares, fresh from the shower, a towel wrapped around his hips.  
  
Kathryn glances up from the edge of the bed, where she’s been sitting staring at the floor. “That’s one way to describe it.”  
  
“Oh, Kathryn.” Kashyk catches her hand and pulls her up to stand in the circle of his arms. “Already it barely seems real – as if it were some fever-dream. Let’s agree to think of it that way.”  
  
“A dream,” she repeats tonelessly. “From my perspective it was more of a nightmare.”  
  
“Really?” he can’t help lashing at her. “Because from mine, it looked a lot like you were enjoying yourself.”  
  
Kathryn presses her lips together, eyes flashing with hurt, and pulls her hand from his grip. “I need to get out of this uniform,” she says quietly.  
  
He watches silently as she undresses, placing the pieces of the Terran armour into the recycler. She retrieves a small hand mirror from the dresser and sits on the bed naked, holding the mirror up to inspect the wound on her cheekbone.  
  
“Kathryn …” Kashyk sighs.  
  
She remains silent, and his gaze wanders over her, taking in her pallor, the clear exhaustion in her movements, the smudges under her eyes. There are purplish-blue bruises on her throat, he notices, from where the Emperor’s gloved fingers had squeezed her.  
  
He thinks about the way Kathryn’s eyes had widened, her neck craning, her pale back arching as she strained for air. It makes his neck prickle and his gut tighten. It makes him want to fuck her, put his hands on her in all the places other greedy hands have marked her.  
  
It makes him uncomfortable, that he wants to do that to her. And it shouldn’t, because he quite enjoys inflicting pain on her, and in fact, she usually takes pleasure in a certain degree of it.  
  
He covers his disquiet by tossing his towel aside and dropping to his knees beside the bed, grasping her hips, pulling her toward him. As he buries his mouth between her legs she gasps, her fingers clutching at his hair. “Kashyk,” she half-pleads, “no. I’m so – I need a shower in the worst way.”  
  
“I don’t care,” he mumbles against a mouthful of her hot, succulent flesh.  
  
“But I do,” she answers, gentle but firm, and pushes him off her. She pads toward the bathroom, tossing over her shoulder, “Order us some food, will you?”  
  
The door closes behind her.  
  
It’s the first time she has ever refused him since the day he offered her the choice between her crew and her freedom.  
  
But it doesn’t mean anything. She is here by choice, after all – her choice, then and now. And she has just been through quite an ordeal. To save his life, no less. He can give her a little leeway for that.  
  
Kashyk strides to the replicator and programs in a new body scan, ordering a freshly tailored uniform of the Devore Imperium. He pulls it on, slicks back his hair and comms the ship’s galley to place a peremptory order for _crus ranae_. It’s Kathryn’s favourite, and she deserves a little treat.  
  
He thinks about recording his log, but when he tries to begin, the words won’t come. How can he possibly explain where they’ve been? What they’ve done?  
  
How can he tell anyone, even a computer, that a proud Devore posed as slave to a human?  
  
How can he tell anyone what he let them do to his woman? _His Kathryn_?  
  
His spiralling thoughts are thankfully cut off by the chime at the door. “Come,” he shouts.  
  
A man strides in. Tall, rugged-looking, warm brown skin, dark hair. He dumps a tray of food on the bed and steps back, glowering darkly.  
  
There’s a marking on his forehead. Kashyk recognises it.  
  
“Are you trying to get yourself killed, Kash?” the man growls. “She thinks you’re looking after the children. What the hell are you doing in here, ordering food from her personal chef?”  
  
Kashyk isn’t sure which is more astonishing: the words he’s hearing, or the man who’s speaking them.  
  
At that moment, the bathroom door opens on a waft of sweet-scented steam and Kathryn steps out in a silky black slip, brushing her freshly-cleansed hair.  
  
“Is that dinner?” she begins. “I’m starv-”  
  
As her gaze tracks to the third person in the suddenly crowded room, her words drop away like stones in a pond. Kashyk watches as her lips part, as the colour drains from her face, as the hairbrush drops unnoticed from her hand.  
  
“Chakotay,” she whispers, and then her knees give way and she sits down, hard, on the floor.

* * *

  
  
(TO BE CONTINUED)  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I promised my tumblr people that this story would be swamped with Latin _Threshold_ puns, so here they are.
> 
>  _Limina_ (the magical universe-hopping transport device): this one is obvious; it’s simply Latin for threshold.  
>  _Stelio_ (the name of the slave market where Kashyk bought the _limina_ ): Latin for trickster or lizard.  
>  _Ignot_ (the small, helpless creature Kashyk compares himself to when he’s captured by the Terrans): from the Latin _ignotus_ , a newt.  
>  _Lacerta_ (the sector Pike’s ship recently returned from patrolling): Latin for lizard.  
>  _Rubeta_ (Emperor Georgiou’s insult for Kashyk): toad.  
>  _Crus ranae_ (Kathryn’s favourite Devoran delicacy): frog’s legs.
> 
> You’re welcome.
> 
> Thanks to angrywarrior69 for running the fic event, Helen8462 for betaing (the idea of Cornwell/McCoy being married and 'the Inquisitor' are thanks to her, too), LittleObsessions for betaing (and for endlessly encouraging my Kashyk obsession), and the Voyager Book Club for all the other little easter eggs I've worked in here from our discord conversations (how many did you spot?).


End file.
